


Rest is for The Weary, Sleep is for the Dead

by theboywantscoffee



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Blood Loss, Hurt/Comfort, Number Five | The Boy Whump, Number Five | The Boy-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27036613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theboywantscoffee/pseuds/theboywantscoffee
Summary: In which Five tries to remain conscious despite copious amounts of blood loss from his shrapnel wound and eventually gets the nap he so deserves. Inspired by Whumptober 2020 prompt No. 10: blood loss.
Comments: 17
Kudos: 230





	Rest is for The Weary, Sleep is for the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Plotless whump that takes place during 1x07 between Five passing out at Leonard's and Diego and Allison getting him back to the academy.

Five has experienced his fair share of injuries.

The apocalypse had been nothing but relentless in its attempt to take his life (and that’s excluding his numerous close encounters via starvation, dehydration, illness, or freezing). His body by the end of those 45 years had been riddled with evidence of his isolated battle for survival and accidental run ins with fate. Corroded, rusted metal. Fractured panes of glass. Jagged edges of concrete with rebar protruding. Miscalculated falls off crumbling asphalt. It’s quite possibly an actual miracle that he never contracted tetanus from any of his skin piercing encounters with rusted and soiled objects. The apocalypse had been a wasteland that tested his ability to survive every moment, waking and asleep, and somehow he managed to skim by with enough close encounters for ten lifetimes over. 

His time during and after the Commission, well. That’s another story.

Five is somewhat aware of his situation strewn across the back seat of the family car. Diego is driving in a way that is tumultuous, erratic, and fast; even his breaking is abrupt. It causes Five’s stomach to flip and flop in every direction and if he weren’t so damn tired, he thinks he may have vomited by now. The metallic taste of blood is thick in his mouth and the streetlights flicker beyond the barrier of his eyelids. Beads of sweat roll down the side of his forehead and into his hair. Every added stimuli contributes more and more to his nausea and he takes in a deep breath in an attempt to will it away. Allison is speaking from above him and vaguely, he realizes that his head is in her lap.

“Five? _Five_! I need you to stay here with us! Don’t you dare fall asleep, I swear to _god_.”

He feels the pressure increasing on his right side and it’s accompanied by a swift piercing sensation. He grits his teeth and inhales sharply, his eyelids lifting for a moment to stare at the ceiling of the back seat. Red light burns across it and within a few moments it flicks to green. He catches a glimpse of Allison’s worried face above him before his eyes fall shut. The car jerks into first gear and they start moving again. As if he could fall asleep through _this_.

“I’m awake,” he mumbles, irate. He’s aware how thick and drawn out his words seem to be though he swears he said it all much louder. Wincing, he moves in a way that is meant to get away from her touch but instead he simply wriggles beneath it. “You’re a shit nurse.” 

Allison laughs and he feels it puff against his face. “Yeah, well you’re a shit patient. Now just lie still already. You’re going to make things worse.” The pressure doesn’t let up and _fuck_ , does it hurt like hell. Five’s hand flits to where the shrapnel is embedded in his flesh but Allison’s hand firmly blocks his way. 

“Diego, can you drive any faster?” There’s a pause. The pressure lets up from his side and reappears a moment after. Five winces and when Allison speaks again he hears a hint of panic in her voice. “He’s lost a lot of blood. We need to go to the hospital.”

Five wants to laugh. A hospital? Yeah, _sure_ , that’ll raise enough red flags to land Allison and Diego in cuffs and himself in child protective services. He wants to speak up and make this point, but instead he grimaces. The combination of Diego’s chaotic steering and the unrelenting stabbing radiating from his wound makes his head spin and stomach roll.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Diego’s voice chimes in from the front of the car. His tone is hard, concentrated. Distantly, Five hears car horns blowing and then fading into the distance. “And there is no way in hell we are going to a hospital. Mom can handle this.”

“No hospitals,” Five murmurs in agreement. The car hits an especially deep pot-hole and he can’t help the silent gasp that leaves him. Jesus Christ this _hurts_. Much more so than the time he had caught a surprise bullet to the shoulder in the 1950s during a stint in Korea. Or that other time his leg fell through the flimsy tiled flooring of a dilapidated mall and steel sliced its way four inches up his calf. Not to mention that other incident where a wooden beam collapsed from above him, colliding hard with his shoulder and -.

He takes a deep breath, shakes the thoughts away. Perhaps ‘shrapnel wound’ will be close to the top of his list of things he doesn’t wish to experience again in his life.

The bickering continues between his siblings and if Five had the brain capacity to conceptualize a thought, he might have joined in. He instead focuses on trying not to fade into the darkness which is _really_ trying to swallow him whole again. He knows the invitingness of falling asleep is all a façade, knows that inevitably it’ll do more harm than good right now. He instead fixates on Allison’s hot breath across his face as she adamantly goes on about him needing medical care _now_ and demanding (begging?) him not to fall asleep. It's touching, really, how concerned they both are for him right now. A bit of a surprise after he went and got himself stuck in a time where he didn’t belong for fourty five fucking years, only to reappear suddenly with the the impending apocalypse looming over him and more derisive comments to offer than kind ones. If he had the energy he'd slap her hand away, insist he’s fine, and demand Diego pull over right now so he can get behind the wheel because his brother can't drive for shit. 

Instead he’s stuck lying in the cramped back seat and hating himself for having them all waste so much time on something so minimal. 

Five wants to stretch his legs out fully because somehow that’ll help with the inclination to vomit he is currently battling, but the car door won’t allow it and that discomfort just throws another wave of nausea at him. The warmth that had originally bloomed from his wound and down his leg has become cold and sticky. His hair is matted to his damp forehead and overall, Five feels like absolute crap. He knows he won’t die, knows his siblings will get him to Mom in time to patch him up fine, but he swears if he does die from a wound as stupid as this he will haunt the ever living shit out of the Commission. Really, a _shrapnel wound._ (Partially or sort of entirely caused by his own decision to blow up the briefcase room if he really considers it which he does not and will _not_ ). 

“We’re here,” Allison states and the jerk of the car coming to a halt rattles him alert and eyes open. Five hears Diego crank the e-break up and throw open a door, the slam of it closing jarring him a bit more to his senses. Blood loss is a bitch and he hates how useless it makes him. He wants to get up. He tries to (he thinks?) but his legs are jello and are currently not moving very well under his command. Instead, the one closest to the edge of the seat falls limply ( _uselessly_ ) to the floor. In the distance he hears Allison tell him to _stop_ and then her hand pulls away from his injury as does her leg from his head. Instead of letting his head fall to the seat, she catches it with her unsullied hand and brings it down gently in a motion that is so damn motherly. 

“Alright Five,” she says, sliding out of the seat. “We’re going to get you out now.” It sounds more like a warning than a celebration. He feels her hands slide in beneath his arms and she’s pulling him up and out of the car. He groans with the sudden movement. The muscles and flesh around the bits of shrapnel spasm against it and it feels like someone has taken a barb wire coated egg beater and turned it on full blast in his side. It really is a damn shame his body seems to have run out of all those wonderful pain managing endorphins and that energizing adrenaline he had fueling him earlier. 

“Jeez, you ain’t looking so hot Five,” Diego chimes in from behind him and Five has to bite his tongue. Ever the enlightening one. 

“No shit, Diego,” Allison hisses. Another pull and Five’s torso is half upright in her arms. He hates the quiet, agonized sound that leaves him. “Grab his legs and let’s get him inside. Now.”

There’s a bit of a fuss as Allison drags Five’s limp body out of the car enough for Diego to catch his legs. The entire commotion is awkward and painful and multiple times the fogginess in Five’s mind nearly takes over and swallows him whole. He has a few snide comments swimming about his mind but he can’t bring himself to vocalize them. He swears he hears a quick, “Sorry,” at some point from one of the two as he is jostled up the steps and through the front door of the Academy. Allison goes on again about the fact that they should have gone to a hospital and through it all Five manages assure her that it's best they didn't. He’s soon deposited onto something not nearly as cushy as he’d have liked and he feels that force pressing into his side once more.

It’s _agonizing_. Debilitating. He sees stars beyond the darkness that consumes him, that steals his breath from him. They’re home. He’ll be fine. He can fall asleep now, he thinks; if he doesn’t do it himself Mom will simply induce him with medications anyway. He’ll wake up good as new after a minor foreign body removal procedure, a good handful of sutures, and a cocktail of analgesics and sedatives to keep him still through it all. Then he can get right back to saving his utterly useless siblings from the impending end of the world. There’s really no time for this at all, but Five knows he is of much more of help to his family a few hours short than dead. 

He hears Mom above him directing his siblings to transfer him to the infirmary and then he's being moved _again_. _Screw it_. He does it - he lets the fog take over. It’s welcoming, drawing him away from all of his physical ailments. The last thing he remembers is one final wave of unrelenting pain and nausea rolling over him, starting from the very tips of his toes and knocking the wind out of him as it reaches the apex of his chest. He inhales a single wavering breath before allowing the instinctive need to pass out take over.

Well, at least he can finally get some rest.

  
  
  



End file.
